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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065200">Chamomile + Vetiver</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto'>impossiblepluto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MacGyver (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomni-mac, Insomnia, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), spy siblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:14:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac suffers from a bout of insomnia and his friends try to help him out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Chamomile + Vetiver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sleep seems to be on the brain this week in the Mac famdom, maybe it's because we're all craving a little softness for this poor kid. Anyway, here's a little insomni-mac. Hope you enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mac flops onto his back. Pushing a hand through his hair, he drops his arm to rest over his eyes, huffing a frustrated sigh toward the ceiling above his bed. His irritation isn’t causing sleep to come any easier. </p><p>He’s resentful of the situation, angry even, but more annoyed at himself by his response to it. </p><p>He breathes deeply, rhythmically, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Trying to systematically relax his muscles, starting with his toes and working his way up his legs. Focusing on letting the bed support his weight, on how heavy his limbs feel. There’s still enough time to get four hours of sleep tonight… this morning…</p><p>Inhale… </p><p>… hold…</p><p>… exhale…</p><p>He feels his eyes growing heavier.</p><p>Relax. Don’t push it.</p><p>Don’t jinx it.</p><p>Inhale. </p><p>And there’s that itch in his brain. That twitch of his muscles, taunting him. He flips over to the other side of the bed, onto cool sheets and maybe that will be enough to draw him into slumber. His eyes land on the clock. If he falls asleep right now he can still get three hours and forty-two minutes of sleep and maybe that will be enough to drive the fatigue from his body and the fog from his mind. </p><p>His face pressed to the cool side of the pillow. Warm enough to be soothing, cool enough to be comfortable.</p><p>He wishes he could turn his brain off, just for a few hours. Just enough time to reset.</p><p>Inhale…</p><p>Closes his eyes.</p><p>Ignores the clock.</p><p>It’s not a countdown.</p><p>Not a timer twinkling in the dark, heralding his failure, warning of his impending demise. Mocking him. If he can't save himself, how can he expect to save his friends.</p><p>No need to be that dramatic. It’s one night without sleep.</p><p>Okay, two nights.</p><p>Technically, he got an hour or two. That was two nights ago right? Not three… it hasn’t been that long. </p><p>He tosses onto his other side.</p><p>If he falls asleep right now he’ll still get three hours and twenty-seven minutes of sleep. </p><p>Relax. Breathe.</p><p>Don’t get frustrated…</p><p>Don’t get more frustrated. There’s nothing he can do about it now, just make the best of it. It will pass. This week will be over soon. Won’t it?</p><p>It sure doesn’t seem like it right now. He doesn’t have a choice, just has to make it through and hope it doesn’t happen again. </p><p>Mythbusters proved that laying in the dark and resting is better than getting up and working on something even though his brain is begging him to get up and not subject himself to this torture any longer. A twenty-minute nap is beneficial to the body and if he falls asleep right now he’ll get way more than twenty minutes of sleep. He’ll get three hours and eleven minutes. </p><p>That’s over nine twenty-minute naps. </p><p>And he’s survived on less. </p><p>Not happily, but he’s survived. </p><p>No one was very happy about that. Irritable and bleary-eyed. Snapping at Bozer in the kitchen. Arguing with Riley on a stakeout. Yelling at Jack, well, all the time. Trying to ignore the hurt looks that crossed his friends' faces.</p><p>Chasing a suspect three blocks almost killed him. That’s dramatic but Jack easily outdistanced him, and his face was comically concerned when Mac finally caught up with them. He’d taken one look at Jack’s worried eyes burst into laughter so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. </p><p>Jack passed off this suspect to a TAC teammate and sat Mac down on a crate, running a hand over his head looking for injury. Down his neck and arms searching for a puncture wound that would explain his increasingly bizarre behavior. He caught Mac’s chin in his hand, peering into his eyes. No way for Mac to hide the deep purple crescents framing bloodshot eyes.</p><p>“When’s the last time you slept, dude?” </p><p>The tears of laughter almost became real tears as the reality of his exhaustion caught up with him and he shrugged. “Define slept.”</p><p>Matty benched him until he got a solid eight hours which took longer than anyone was hoping, but the only real casualty of that terrible week was one of Bozer’s slush molds and a coffee mug that Jack wrestled out of his grasp after his sixth cup of coffee one morning because if he couldn’t sleep at least he should be productive.</p><p>Or was it seven? It’s all a little bit of a blur. </p><p>He’s down to eight and a half twenty-minute naps. </p><p>There might have been a coffee carafe sacrificed that week as well. It was not a good time. For anyone. But he made it through then, he can make it through this. </p><p>He sighs and flips his pillow.</p><p>The Mythbusters boys have always had his back but this is ridiculous. He can’t lay here for… one hundred forty-four minutes.</p><p>He can see the faintest lightening of the horizon through his window. </p><p>Maybe he just needs to tire himself out. Count tonight… last night… this morning as a lost cause. Get up. Go for a run. Work on a project. Head into the Phoenix early for some extra lab time and attempt sleeping tonight. </p><p>He turns onto his back.</p><p>The circles under his eyes aren’t that dark and he’s been functioning pretty well all week. No one has noticed anything yet. He can probably squeak by today with the largest coffee available from the local shop before anyone realizes something’s wrong. </p><p>It’s better than lying here stressing and counting every minute of the next two hours.</p><p>With a sigh, he flings aside the blankets. He sits on the edge of the bed and yawns. A mocking insult to his fatigue. He scratches a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes before hauling himself upright. He doesn’t bother with lights, grabbing a soft hoodie from the closet, identifying it from the small tear in the shoulder, pulling it over his head as he pads down the hall to the kitchen. </p><p>He debates turning on the coffeemaker, peering back down the darkened hallway towards the bedrooms, wondering if it will be enough to wake his roommate and start a barrage of questions. </p><p>If he’s up this early then he might as well enjoy it, he decides as he reaches for the coffee grounds and snaps on the small light over the sink. He’s only going to be able to hide the insomnia for so long anyway.</p><p>That doesn’t stop him from flinching and glancing at the hallway once the brew begins percolating, expecting to be caught at any moment.</p><p>He pours a cup or three into the biggest mug he can find and adds a splash of creamer before turning off the light and taking his treat out to the deck. He shivers in the cool morning air and inhales the warmth of his coffee, curling his hands around the mug. </p><p>Throwing some kindling and a log onto the firepit, he coaxes a small flame to life before settling in to sip his coffee and watch the sky turn from black to navy. The few visible stars disappear as the sunlight chases away the dark. </p><p>Inside the house, the kitchen light blinks on. There’s shuffling at the door before Bozer appears on the deck, his own cup a coffee in hand. </p><p>“You’re up early.”</p><p>Mac shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. </p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course,” Mac says, cocking his head in apparent confusion.</p><p>Bozer hums but doesn’t call him on his very clear bullshit. </p><p>But after a full day of watching Mac fumble paperclips and his Swiss army knife during a team meeting with Matty, which earns him a scowl and a sarcastic remark after they clatter to the floor, touch the wrong wire while working with Sparky which makes Riley yell when literal sparks explode from their AI, and a break pipette while in the lab, Bozer shows up at his bedroom door as he’s getting ready for hopefully a good night sleep. </p><p>“Here,” Bozer tosses a tube in his direction, which hits his chest and he catches on the rebound, ignoring his friend’s concern-widened eyes.</p><p>“A moisturizer?” Mac raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Bozer steps further into the room. “Leanna got it for me. I put it on and I don’t even remember falling asleep. Out before my head hits the pillow.”</p><p>Mac twists off the cap and sniffs the contents. “You think someone drugged it?”</p><p>“What? No! For your insomnia. And don’t lie. I know you haven’t been sleeping this week, and I for one would like to avoid a repeat performance of your sleep-deprived insanity.” </p><p>“It’s not like that.” </p><p>“It’s got geranium, chamomile and vetiver, which I know, I’d never heard of either but it’s really good for emotional stress.”</p><p>“I’m not stressed,” Mac protests and Bozer rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Really? There’s nothing bothering you this week? Nothing you’re worried about?”</p><p>Mac shrugs, sniffing the lotion again, wrinkling his nose. “It’s kind of strong.”</p><p>“Yeah, but no lavender.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Mac sniffs at the tube one last time. “Can’t believe you found a lotion for sleep that doesn’t have lavender in it. Usually that’s the first ingredient.”</p><p>“Here, let me. Lay down,” Bozer sits on the edge of the bed, flapping his hand at Mac until he shuffles under the blanket. “Give me your hand.”</p><p>Mac raises an eyebrow but extends his arm. </p><p>Squeezing out a dollop of the lotion, Bozer captures Mac’s hand. Starting at the heel of his palm, Bozer gently massages the lotion into his skin, ignoring the way Mac blushes and smiles sheepishly. </p><p>“Close your eyes, don’t watch me,” Bozer shakes his head. “Don’t make it weird, dude.” </p><p>Mac does as instructed, settling against his pillow and closing his eyes, inhaling deeply. It’s a woodsy scent, light now that he’s not sticking his nose in it. Crisp, earthy, like laying in the grass on a warm summer day. Bozer works the lotion onto each finger then gently reaches for his other hand. </p><p>Mac sighs. Maybe this will work. </p>
<hr/><p>Mac’s face rests on his fist, propped up on the workbench in his lab, frowning hard at the components in front of him. He knows what to do. He can build a pocket-sized EMP generator in his sleep, and maybe that’s the problem. </p><p>Bozer’s moisturizer smelled nice, and his hands feel especially soft today but he tossed and turned, twisting himself up in the sheets until he gave up around five this morning. Another day of this and Bozer isn’t going to be the only member of Team Improvise that notices he’s dragging. </p><p>The door to the lab opens and Mac bolts upright, reaching out for the screwdriver on the table. </p><p>“You can drop the act,” Riley says over his shoulder.</p><p>“What act?” He starts to say but his voice is smothered by a jaw-splitting yawn. </p><p>“Look, you can pretend all you want to, but I know for a fact that you haven’t been sleeping.”</p><p>Mac frowns.</p><p>“No, Bozer didn’t say anything. I just have a vivid memory of how you looked the few days before you finally crashed the last time you were suffering from insomnia. Seriously, Mac, go home.”</p><p>“And do what? At least if I’m here I can be useful.”</p><p>Riley places her hand on Mac’s shoulder. “You mean keep your brain busy so you aren’t overthinking and worrying about everything?”</p><p>“Something like that…”</p><p>She reaches into her bag. “It’s kind of old school. I know there’s an app for this now, but…” she pulls out a small white noise machine. “I had trouble sleeping when I was a kid. I mean, it didn’t help that I was up til four in the morning writing code and hacking, which my mom didn’t know, but this was one of Jack’s solutions and surprisingly it worked.” </p><p>Mac’s face perks up. “Really?”</p><p>“Just give it a try. It’s gotta be better than Bozer’s hand cream.”</p><p>“He told you?” Mac exclaimed offended at the breach of trust.</p><p>“No, I can smell it on you. Did it work?”</p><p>Mac shrugs. “No, but don’t tell Bozer. He was so sure it would.”</p><p>“Well, I’m not letting him have the credit when it’s my noise machine that finally puts you to sleep.”</p><p>“I hope you’re right,” Mac sighs.</p><p>“If any solution is going to work it’s this one.” </p>
<hr/><p>Mac blinks slowly watching familiar figures run across the television screen to the swell of thematic music, the volume turned low, encouraging rest. He pulls the blanket up over his shoulders. Sleep is so close it aches. His eyes burn, his body screams for rest. He starts to yawn, so tired that he gives up halfway through. </p><p>After finishing the EMP yesterday he proceeded to drop it, shattering into a thousand pieces, right as Matty came down to check on his progress.</p><p>“You don’t look good, Mac,” Matty said as he dropped back onto the stool at the workbench. He has a feeling if she could reach she’d brush the hair from his eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”</p><p>“You’re all worrying too much. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Do you think maybe you’re the one worrying too much?” Her voice was gentle.</p><p>“No! I told you I’m fine. I’m not worried.”</p><p>“It’s okay if you are, Mac. I’m sure this isn’t easy.”</p><p>“Stop. All of you need to stop. I’m fine,” Mac snaps, blood rushing in his ears. </p><p>“MacGyver, go home. I don’t want to see you until you’ve gotten a full night’s sleep. However long that takes, but hopefully, it’s only another day or two.”</p><p>“Matty, I--”</p><p>“If you want, you can stop by medical before you leave. I’m sure your doctor would be very interested to hear about your insomnia and irritability,” she raised an eyebrow. </p><p>“I don’t need drugs, I just need to sleep,” Mac sighs, pushing his hair back. “I’m sorry, Matty. I--”</p><p>“We’re just concerned about you, Mac. Go home. Like I said, it should only be another day or two.”</p><p>Promptly benched, Riley drove him home, where he ate a light, and very early dinner, took a shower and proceeded to toss restlessly the soothing sounds of a tranquil thunderstorm, until he finally gave up, moving out to the couch, playing through his Netflix queue, documentaries, Star Wars, Die Hard, and Golden Girls. </p><p>The kettle hisses in the kitchen and he hears the rattle of cups.</p><p>“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Mac mumbles as he sits up.</p><p>“Has anything else worked?” Desi asks with a raised eyebrow. “Look, we all know the solution, but until then, maybe this will keep you from walking around, bumping into furniture, and mumbling incoherent apologies to the coffee table?”</p><p>Mac sighs and reaches for the offered mug, wrapping both hands around it, half-worried that he doesn’t hold it with two hands he’ll drop it in his lap. He takes a sip. It wouldn’t be his first choice of beverage but at this point, his taste buds are also so sleep deprived that he’ll try anything. </p><p>It’s warm, soothing, and goes down smooth. Maybe he should ask Desi to spike it, if the tea doesn’t do it, the alcohol might. He rests his head against the back of the couch. Even an hour would help. </p>
<hr/><p>The clock shows that it’s just after three in the morning and Mac thinks he might actually lose his mind if he doesn’t sleep soon. Random, half-thoughts that he can barely make sense of ramble through his mind, sluggishly teasing him. </p><p>Sleep is an evasive fugitive, darting just out of his grasp every time he gets close. </p><p>A tickle in his brain, begging for rest and then slipping away, leading him on a merry chase down rabbit trails while he slogs along hoping for slumber. </p><p>The quiet creak of the front door opening makes his ears perk up and skillful footsteps avoid the warped floorboard that squeaks. He hopes that if it’s Murdoc he comes bearing his own insomnia cure, hopefully not in the form of a needle but at this point Mac will try anything. </p><p>Except he knows and trusts these footfalls and he feels the tension leak from his body. </p><p>The bedroom door eases open. A shadow in the doorway, peering into the darkness, concerned and assessing him.</p><p>“I’m not asleep,” Mac murmurs.</p><p>Jack steps into the room, dropping his go-bag beside the door. “You should be.”</p><p>Mac shrugs, the blankets rustle. </p><p>“All week?” Jack steps closer to the bed as Mac scoots up, leaning against the headboard and nods miserably. “You knew I was coming back though, right? This wasn’t like Kovacs. Or your dad. I’ll always come back.”</p><p>“I <em> know </em> but…” Mac feels his eyelids prickle. “What if you didn’t. Or couldn’t.” He blinks, hating the way his exhaustion has robbed him of his control. </p><p>“Well, next time another team needs an assist, Matty’s just gonna have to pull from TAC,” Jack reaches out, brushing blond hair back.  </p><p>“I can’t ask you to do that.”</p><p>“You don’t have to ask. Everyone seems to forget that my job is watching your back. Anything else I choose to do or not do is on my terms.”</p><p>“When did you get back?”</p><p>“Just now. I mean straight from the airport now, so I’m hoping I left some sleep pants here because the ones in my go-bag are a little ripe.”</p><p>Mac gestures toward the dresser. “Top… top drawer.” He yawns. “How did you know?”</p><p>“Well, the text I got from you today told me you were either drugged out of your gourd, elbows deep in a project that took every ounce of concentration, or you hadn’t slept in about six days.” Jack rummages through the drawer, pulling out a pair of pajama bottoms and an old soft t-shirt. “And since I hadn’t gotten pinged that you were in medical and no one had complained that you’d blown up kitchen appliances or lab equipment, it had to be the last one.” He strips down and quickly pulls on the sleepwear. </p><p>Mac hums softly. </p><p>“But I did get four texts over the last few days asking me to hurry up and finish so it was pretty clear what was going on.” Jack’s hand rests on Mac’s forehead for a moment. “You aren’t coming down with anything, right?”</p><p>“It’s dumb,” Mac rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away from Jack’s touch. “You’ve been gone before. I’ve gone on missions without you. I don’t know why this time…”</p><p>“First time I’ve been away since I’ve been back.” </p><p>Mac nods. “It’s still dumb.”</p><p>"It's kind of... sweet, in a very disturbed way."</p><p>A distressed laugh bursts out of Mac.</p><p>"Alright, plenty of time to think about all this after you’ve gotten some sleep. Even you can't expect your brain to be logical after a week of being wide awake. Budge over would ya?” </p><p>Mac is already scooting sleepily to the other side of the bed, squirming his way down against the pillow. </p><p>Jack smiles to himself as he crawls in. “You comfy?” </p><p>Another yawn and Mac nods.</p><p>“Alright. Don’t force it, but don’t fight it,” Jack encourages as Mac’s eyes slide closed and he sighs. “That’s it. Good boy.” </p><p>His hand rests on Mac’s forehead, a finger stroking the skin between his eyebrows down the bridge of his nose and back up again. And Mac’s eyes pop open in surprise. He almost wants to comment on it. Wants to laugh and question what Jack is doing, and he opens his mouth to do just that but yawns instead, eyes sliding shut. </p><p>Before the elusive slumber finally claims him he hears Jack whisper. “You don’t have to get yourself all worked up and worried like this, kiddo. I’m not leaving you.” </p>
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